Dragon Age: Elvhenan
by Corkerite
Summary: In a world where Arlathan never fell, Warden Neira Surana fights the Blight and her attraction to the Avvar shemlen berserker Alistair.  Told in excerpted scenes from the game, turned AU. Originally on the k!meme; edited in places from MA down to M.
1. Chapter 1

Neira approached the shattered chest, frowning. Stretching out one hand, she half-closed her eyes and felt for the magical wards Dunilkan said would be here - but nothing. She crouched, sifting through the wreck, but no evidence of any parchment remain.

"What have we here? Intruders in these Wilds of mine? Or scavengers, perhaps, come to pick at bones none have disturbed in ages." Neira heard the men go on guard as she stood and turned.

The young Warden who accompanied them, the fair-haired allan'isa, warned, "She is a sorceress; I can feel it. Be on your guards, all of you."

"A sorceress? Perhaps I am," the dark-haired human woman admitted as she sauntered toward them, apparently unconcerned for their weapons. "But what are you, mm? Intruder or scavenger? Speak!"

"Scavenger I be," Neira replied, showing teeth, "the wolf, Fen-Harel. And if you are wise, you will leave me to my meat."

"But there is no meat, just wind-swept bones," the sorceress shrugged, circling them. "You seek the Grey Warden treaties that were once in that chest?"

"You know of them?" the allan'isa asked. "Then where are they now? Did you take them to feather your nest, pretty magpie?"

She smiled coldly at him and smoothed the feathered ornament she wore. "I did not. My mother has them."

"Another Chasind witch, to be sure," Dalim, the scrawny cutpurse, shivered.

"There's nothing for it," grunted the heavyset Emerald Knight. "Dunilkan requires the treaties."

Neira paced slowly before the human, testing magic against magic; the sorceress watched her with flat yellow eyes, expecting a challenge. The allan'isa stepped between them, though, violet arcane light pulsing through the lyrium-infused swirling markings trailing down his face and arms. "My dear magi, this is hardly the time or place for what would surely be a most _impressive_ duel." The yellow-eyed witch curled her lip, staring at the arcane designs, but he bowed gallantly to her anyway. "I am Zevran, dear woman, and I humbly request that you take us to see your mother."

"I can hardly consider it a humble request coming from such a one as you, _allan'isa_," the sorceress spat. "Is that a threat?"

He sighed and the violet light faded. "It would merely be a waste of the highest degree if you and Warden Neira were to injure each other. I was attempting to _prevent_a fight, not start one."

"Hmph." She seemed utterly unconvinced. "Keep your magics to yourself, and you may yet succeed in that. Come, this way," she beckoned suddenly, disappearing into the brush.

* * *

><p>Neira awoke with a groan. What had happened? She blinked her eyes blearily - and sat bolt upright when she saw Morrigan, the daughter of the Asha'bellanar, standing there. "What... where..."<p>

"You are in our home," the apprentice witch explained. "My mother rescued you and your friend from the battle, brought you here, and healed your wounds... which were grievous."

"The battle!" Neira suddenly remembered; they had been tasked with lighting a signal beacon atop the Tower of Andruil in the Korcari Fortress. Only the darkspawn had come up from below, attacking behind their lines... "How went the battle?"

The human lowered her eyes. "A massacre," she said quietly. "The general who was to come to your aid... quit the field. Your warleader and the others... all have perished."

"You said Zevran was here?" she asked, getting out of the bed and casting about for her robes.

Morrigan nodded and indicated a chest which, she found, held her possessions. "He is outside, with Mother. He is... not taking it well. And she would speak with you."

"Very well," Neira said, shrugging the garment on. "I wish to thank her. And you."

"You... are welcome," Morrigan said uncertainly. She nodded toward the door. "I will remain here, to prepare some supper." Neira nodded in return and pushed it open.

Zevran was seated on a rough bench outside, staring blindly into the marsh. He turned automatically at the sound of the door opening, and rose when he saw who it was approaching. "Mythal's mercy," he said, "you're alive. I was not sure if I should hope - "

"I told you she was alive, didn't I, boy?" the Asha'bellanar snapped.

"Ma serrannas," Neira said to her, bowing deeply. "Morrigan told me we have you to thank for our lives."

"Indeed you do," the Asha'bellanar cackled. "And it remains to be seen what you will do with them."

* * *

><p>The human Devoted sang soft hymns to June and Andruil as she carefully trimmed goose feathers down into fletchings for their arrows. Neira watched for a few moments, then said, "Your work is skilled."<p>

"Oh, no" Leliana demurred. "I was only in the temple for a few years; I am new to the Craft. The acolytes, they would have had a dozen shafts perfectly finished and ready for blessing by the time I had completed one. But it is kind of you to say so."

Neira shifted her weight nervously. "About your vision..."

"Yes. I knew you would ask, sooner or later." Leliana set the feather and penknife aside. "One night, about a month ago, I had a dream... or a nightmare. I was atop a high tower, overlooking the entire Brecilian Forest as a hideous darkness came creeping forward. The ravens Fear and Deceit buffeted me with their wings. I tried to shield myself from them, and called on Dirthamen to protect me from them, but they kept trying to pluck out my eyes! And as the darkness drew near, swallowing up the great city that surrounded my tower, I lost my balance under the ravens' assault and fell."

Neira frowned, looking into those eager blue eyes. "I beg your pardon, Devoted, but what has this dream to do with the Grey Wardens?"

"The next morning, when I rose and went out into the courtyard to greet the sun, I nearly tripped over two dead ravens in my path. Dirthamen protected me after all, and I believe that he wants me to help you find the secrets that will stop this Blight."

Neira was not inclined to believe such mysticism, but in such matters it was better to be safe than sorry. Devoted Leliana had many useful talents, whether she was sent by a god or no, so for the time being... "I am... glad to have your help," Neira said, stiffly enough that Leliana's face fell a little.

* * *

><p>The first treaty was with the Avvar hill people who dwelled in the Ice Mountains. The Avvar were an impermanent folk, resettling as wind and weather changed in the fickle mountains. But despite the difficulties caused by the bounty Zathrian had placed on their heads, the Wardens had found a lead to a tribal settlement.<p>

As they trudged up the narrow path in shin-deep snow, an odd sound uphill caught their attention. "Rockslide!" Zevran shouted in warning, and they all flung themselves desperately up the path. A river of stones and boulders came crashing down behind them and they paused, panting for breath - as Avvar archers suddenly appeared from behind the pine trees, and the howls of their wolf-hounds echoed down the pass.

Four humans burst up _from the snow itself_, howling as madly as the wolves. "For the honor of the Avvar!" shouted the largest, a hulking brute clad in animal skins and a horned helmet. "Kill the invaders!"

"I would not have thought that an _elf_ would show such concern for a _man_," Morrigan snipped. "The others are all dead; why not kill this one as well?"

"Not _all_ the others," the Devoted said. A wounded wolf-hound was dragging itself toward them, slowly and painfully, snarling as dangerously as it could. "It must be his, I think."

Zevran drew an arrow and nocked. "I have it."

"No!" Leliana protested, tugging at his arm and sending the arrow wide. He glared at her. "These beasts, they act with cunning, bravery and loyalty. I would as soon shoot a halla."

"Are you _sure_ you're Devoted?" Neira murmured incredulously. That was practically blasphemous, to compare the sacred beasts of Ghilan'nain to these slavering creatures.

"I will keep it away," she said confidently, carefully approaching the wolf-hound with upturned hands.

"Be it on her head," Neira said, turning attention back to the injured berserker. A few simple healing spells, and -

His hazel eyes snapped open and he tried to lunge at her, succeeding only at rolling himself face-down into the snow. "You're bound," Neira informed him, rolling him back over with a dainty foot.

His eyes fixed briefly on each of them in turn. "Why have you spared me?"

"I asked the _same_ thing," Morrigan mused.

"_Because_," Neira said irritably, "someone told you we were coming, and someone told you we were... invaders? And I would know who."

"Your men in the green metal came," he replied easily. "They are the personal warband of your chief, truth? And they said..." He looked mildly puzzled. "They said an abomination was loose and coming to wreak havoc, stir up trouble between us and the elves."

Zevran crossed his arms irritably. "Yes, because I am so _bad_ at my job as to allow a demon to possess a fellow Grey Warden and then, rather than strike it dead, follow it about the countryside."

"He _is_ one of their _allan'isa_," Morrigan confirmed. "And neither she nor I are abominations, I assure you."

The human bared his teeth at her. "Fair words from one of their changelings."

"I am Chasind, a people as proud as your own," Morrigan retorted. "_Never _have I darkened the door of their Aerie."

"So you say."

"_I_ say we're Grey Wardens," Neira said, brandishing the treaty at him. "And that I would speak to your elders. _And_ that Primus Zathrian has tricked you with lies, and cost you the lives of your men as a result. He wishes us dead, that is true, because he is a coward who fled from battle, and we know it. And like a coward, he will not face us directly but instead gulled you with these tales sent with the Emerald Knights."

He looked at the treaty blankly, then back at her. "Are you going to kill me?"

"By the Creators, no! I wish only to speak to your elders!"

He considered. "Then I will take you to them. I do not know where the truth is, but perhaps they will." At that, Neira offered him her arm to aid his balance as he stood. He looked about to say something when his head turned quickly. "Dane!" He sprinted through the snow, throwing up great white plumes, and dove to his knees at the side of the wounded wolf-hound. "Dane, hold on. I will carry you home."

* * *

><p><em>It was beautiful and terrible and it <strong>wanted<strong> her, called to her, its demand an insistent burning in her blood that threatened to destroy everything in foul and tainted darkness in a delirious orgy of death and pain. She tried to walk away, to find a different corner of the Fade where it **was not**, but it was everywhere, unending, a promise of completion and release from care, of mindless joyful service._

There was just one escape:

"Bad dreams?" Zevran asked as she forced herself to wakefulness.

She _threw_ herself at the allan'isa, trembling in terror. "Help me! A demon from Beyond! It was so strong, I've never... Please!" In all her years walking the Beyond, she had _never_been tempted like that, never met a corrupted spirit so canny and convincing.

His arms, open in surprise, closed gently around her. "You are in the waking world, and safe now, Neira. Can you tell me of this demon?"

Haltingly, she did so: the huge dragon covered in filthy spines, violet flames billowing from its cavernous maw, and its roar like a song. "It must be powerful and ancient... How did I gain the attention of such a thing? How can I escape from it?" Surely, she would stumble and it would come for her, twisting her body into a monstrous form and rampaging over the land.

Zevran's arms tightened around her. "You... took the Joining. And there is... no escape."

"What?" She pulled back, staring into his face with shock.

"That was no demon," he said solemnly. "It was the Archdemon, a corrupted spirit already incarnated in the body of that great dragon. It... controls the darkspawn somehow, with that song, and... we can hear it, too. We are connected to them. It is how we sense them - and they sense us."

"I won't become an abomination?" She clutched at that; that was the good news.

"No, you will not," he nodded. "Not from that, and I suspect not from any demon in the Beyond. You are so very strong, Neira." He said the last part softly, with admiration, and she suddenly realized she was still clinging to him.

She let go and stepped back self-consciously. "You have these nightmares as well?"

He nodded. "They get... better with time. And then, they... get worse again. Dunilkan said that, when the song gets too much to bear, the Wardens go to Orzammar, the city of the durgen'len, and fight with them in their deep tunnels until they die in combat."

She thought on that and laughed, a single, sharp and unpleasant bark. "I suppose I should thank the Creators if that be my fate. It seems so much more likely now that I will end up dead before the year is out." She paused. "I'm... sorry if I startled you earlier."

"No trouble at all, dear lady!" He purposefully broke the dark mood with an extravagant bow. "Although I wish it were something more pleasant than tainted nightmares that sent you into my arms."

"_Do _you now, allan'isa?" She wasn't sure if she should be affronted or... intrigued.

"Is that so surprising to you?" He spread both hands in apology. "Abelas. I meant no offense."

"...None taken," she finally decided. "But I believe I will begin my watch now."


	2. Chapter 2

"I could stand a second watch, if you desire," Zevran offered quietly.

"Don't be ridiculous," Neira brushed him off. "We all need rest."

He put a hand on her shoulder and ducked his head close to her ear. "He watches you. I do not trust him."

"We saved his clan from the werewolf curse and his own elder asked him to accompany us. I think he's past trying to kill us."

"I do not think he wishes to _kill_ you," Zevran said, delicate emphasis leaving little doubt as to what he _did_ think.

She sighed and shrugged his hand off. "I will be fine, lethallin. Go get some sleep." She looked across the fire to discover that Alistair _was _watching them, lips curled in a sneer as he tracked Zevran's departure.

They settled down onto their respective camp stools; Neira faced herself away from the fire, knowing that she could too easily get drawn into the flickering light and drift off - not a very effective guard. She listened to the flames crackle behind her, the sounds of the night birds. After some time - perhaps a half an hour? - she heard Alistair get up, his unique combination of creaking leathers and rustling furs. He crossed the camp center to stand just behind her and paused. She half-turned her head and asked in a low voice, "Going for a patrol?" When there was no answer, she stood quickly and turned, wondering at his strange behavior.

_Zevran was right,_ she thought, suddenly feeling pinned by the hot intensity of his gaze. There was no artifice there, no disguising the obvious _need_ under layers of courtliness and etiquette and protocol. He _wanted_ her, and it sent a small thrill of excitement through her, inappropriate as it was. Finding her voice, she asked, "What is this?"

In reply, he silently held out his hand. In it was a bit of rope tied into a slip-knot.

Neira frowned, now thoroughly confused. She took the rope to examine it. "Alistair, I don't - _!_"

She no sooner had the rope in her hand than his strong, muscular arms caught her in a crushing embrace. Her sound of startled surprise was muffled by his lips on hers, a kiss as hard and brutal as the berserker himself. She froze under it, overcome momentarily by the unexpectedness of the entire situation, the quiet night landscape suddenly replaced with hot breath, rough fingers at her jaw, the scent of leather and musk and sweat, and the grip of his embrace.

For one unaccountable moment, she kissed him back, returning his passion with a surge of her own.

Then her right mind asserted itself. She opened her mind to the Beyond, where will was stronger than body, where she was a mighty warrior. Ancient elven disciplines bridged the gap from Here to There and real strength flooded her limbs. She placed her hands (when had her arms gone around him?) on his chest and _shoved_, sending him stumbling back.

"What do you think you're _doing?_" she hissed, not willing to make a scene by waking the others. She could handle this.

He looked affronted, but it quickly softened to abashed. "You are right," he said quietly, nodding to himself. "We are on watch; we should not be distracted."

"That is not what I meant! Creators! Is it the custom for you savages to force yourselves on your women?"

He looked positively offended. "Is it the custom for you elves to reverse yourselves so quickly?" When she kept blinking at him in consternation, he gestured to the fallen rope.

"The rope? The rope _meant _something?"

He stared at her and then laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that he nonetheless managed to keep quiet. "Yes! Among my people, when we marry, the man must tie ritual knots in a rope while the woman sings. However many knots he completes is how many years they shall contract a marriage."

She swallowed and felt her face redden. "So a slip knot..."

He laughed again, which just made her blush harder. "Something more temporary, sorceress." He walked easily over to the knot and picked it up, the entire sorry incident not upsetting him at all. One eyebrow raised, he offered it again.

"Wha... bu..." She could not _believe _the brazen manner of this man! But for some reason, "no" would not come to her lips. So she settled for: "We are on watch!"

He shrugged and pocketed it. "So we are."

"I'm... going on patrol!" Sitting there with the weight of that predatory hazel gaze upon her was entirely too much to bear, just then.

_Andruil's holy bosom, what's the **matter** with you?_ she chided herself. _He's huge and hairy and **human** and smells like dog. ...actually, he didn't smell like dog. He smelled... Never mind! You're a Grey Warden and an Arcane Warrior and it is not meet to go rutting like a halla in season. Get your head on straight, Neira. You have a Blight to stop._

* * *

><p>Morrigan would not cross the lake to the Aerie, despite Neira's assurances that she would not be grabbed and... what, lectured to? "It's an institution of learning, not a prison," Neira had told her.<p>

"Human mages who go in, come out changed, so they say," Morrigan had replied, crossing her arms. "I've no desire to learn the truth of it first-hand."

And so, with the dark tales and rumors of the locals ringing in their ears, they took the ferry across, with the twin goals of gaining the Aerie's support against the Blight and using its eluvian to contact Arlathan. Word of Zathrian's treachery had to be spread.

Commander Shaevra, leader of the Aerie's allan'isa, gave them a chilly greeting, all but ignoring Leliana and Alistair. She could not honor the treaties, she said, nor offer access to the eluvian - a demonic assault had overtaken the Aerie. The doors were barred until more allan'isa could be found, and without the eluvian to call to Brecilia, it could take weeks. Neira offered to slay the demons herself; Shaevra took it as an insult. These four and a _beast _would do what all the Aerie's allan'isa could not? But Neira insisted, and Shaevra had little enough to lose. "But I warn you, I cannot open that door unless Chancellor Leorah herself tells me it is safe to do so, or you bring me word that all else within has perished."

* * *

><p><em>"The role of lyrium in ritual magic," Neira echoed Chancellor Leorah. "I've... never participated in a ritual."<em>

_"The theory," the older elf snapped. "Surely you know of that."_

_"Of course. The role of lyrium in ritual magic is to provide reserves of mana. This is particularly important in ritual casting because..." Neira answered the question at length. It was important to get it right. The Aerie was a very prestigious academy, and she would need to prove herself to be at the very top of her class to secure a recommendation to study there._

But wait a moment...

_"The moral color of Entropic Magic," the chancellor demanded. "Does it have one? If so, why is it permitted to be taught? If not, how do we justify death magics?"_

_Neira bit her lip. Opinion arguments were difficult; it was test of how you thought and constructed an argument, and less about getting a right answer. "Entropic Magic is no more or less moral than Primal or even Creative Magic," she answered. Leorah shook her head and Neira knew she'd need to defend the position strongly._

Chancellor Leorah was the chancellor _of the Aerie_. What was she doing administering an oral examination in Brecilia?

_"You're an exceptional student," Leorah answered the unasked question. "I thought I should evaluate you for myself. You should feel honored and not question my presence so."_

That wasn't how it happened. And it _had happened_, was in the past, not the present. The present... the present was in the Aerie, the senior sorcerers' quarters, and a demon from Beyond...

The thing wearing Leorah's face screamed and attacked.

* * *

><p><em>She seemed to be in the Ice Mountains again; the white forbidding peaks loomed nearby. But she was in the foothills in the spring, with small flowers blooming. She followed the trail before her, thinking to find Alistair at the end of it.<em>

_But no. Zevran was there, huddled together with a blonde elven girl, at the edge of the Avvar encampment. "Lethallin?" she called. "It is Neira. We have to go."_

_He barely glanced at her. "I can't leave my sister. I can... I can protect her. I have to."_

_"Zevran, you are Beyond. This is a dream. You need to leave it."_

_Three barbarian raiders swaggered over. The girl sobbed, tightening herself into a ball. The allan'isa put himself between her and the humans, rising up on his knees. "Please, let her be," he begged them. "Let me do it."_

_They guffawed and Neira stared. "You are no longer a youth! You have armor and a blade, do you not remember? You are a Grey Warden, with me!"_

_He stared at her then, even when one of the men began to reach for him. "A... Grey Warden?"_

_"No, Zevran!" the girl cried. "Don't leave me, please don't leave me!" But he turned his head a bit farther, saw the pommels of his blades rising over his shoulders. Eyes widening, he drew them both in a flash and attacked the dream-shades with a mad cry that would have done the berserker proud._

_The demon shaped like a blonde girl screamed venom at Neira; they traded spells before attacks from Neira's staff put the vile thing to rest - just as Zevran turned from defeating the others. "Lanaya!" he cried as his form wavered and then disappeared..._

* * *

><p><em>Elegant silk gowns and rich brocaded doublets swept by in a grand ballroom formed by trees arching overhead. Neira gaped, recognizing the storied Citadel of Tirashan, an entire city formed by growing trees, although she had never seen it.<em>

_Leliana sat to one side, playing on her lute, while a stocky dwarf kept time on a drum and a little wisp of a human blew a reedy flute of some kind. As the dance set ended, Neira approached her. "Leliana, it's Neira. Do you remember me?"_

_"Yes, of course," Leliana smiled. "I'm glad you're here. It's a wonderful party."_

_"Well, it's over now," Neira tried gamely. "It's time to head back to Brecilia."_

_"Oh, I can't possibly," Leliana demurred. "Erlina needs me to... well... keep an eye on things! You just go ahead, I'll catch up."_

_She was really getting tired of the Beyond. "You two are the demons?" she asked the dwarf and the human flatly._

_"Demons? Us?" The dwarf laughed. "We're the band."_

_"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" Neira said, throwing magic at them as Leliana stared in horror._

_When it was over, the Devoted was apologizing profusely. "I can't believe I thought... it all seemed so real! I... wait, where are you going?"_

* * *

><p><em>She was back in the Ice Mountains. Full summer this time, rich golden sunlight filtering down through green leaves by a freezing mountain stream.<em>

_Two men, entirely naked, were hip-deep in it and wrestling. Each was trying to duck the other, but this was no friendly sport. She recognized Alistair, and the other man looked so like him that she suspected a brother or close cousin. Only family fought that savagely, a never-ending duel for dominance._

_She started to call out, but it caught in her throat as she observed the play of water on skin, the shifting of muscle under sun-burnt skin, the curve of a neck into broad shoulders. Their hands gripped each other like lovers in the throes of passion, and their straining grunts and occasional shouts would not be out of place in such violent love-making. She wondered, for one licentious moment, what it would be like to **be **with them..._

_...and then she **was**, the brother-cousin biting at the back of her neck slippery and wet and hot, Alistair pressed close against her - but still snarling and reaching for the other man._

_He visibly startled and looked down at her. "Neira? What? I don't... what's going on?"_

_"It's a dream-trap!" she shouted, blushing to the tips of her ears, knowing that she'd almost been caught in it again. "He's a demon, kill him!"_

_And so they did._

* * *

><p>The eluvian had been hopelessly corrupted by demons passing through it. They defeated the abomination Sorcerer Uldred had become in his quest to "free the minds," as he put it, of the Aerie's human sorcerers. Neira left with Leorah's promise of support, a feeling of grave disquiet about the place she'd once been proud to call her home, and some serious questions for her companions.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

"Warden, I... think I owe you something of an explanation."

Neira's heart sank. Zevran wouldn't look that upset if her fears were unfounded. "About what I saw in the Beyond?"

"Yes. Our family were traders, traditionally plying the eastern routes between Arlathan and the sea. Our father took it into his head to try the Tirashan-Brecilia path - a younger son, you understand, and eager to make his way. It was all well, for a time, until some Avvar raided the caravan. Lanaya and I were the only two to survive."

"And you were eventually rescued..."

"...by Zathrian, yes. He took us both in, eventually made Lanaya his captain among the Arcane Order. He sponsored my entry into the allan'isa."

Neira had heard of Captain Lanaya, now the Order's general since Zathrian had taken up the mantle of Primus. When Zevran had called the fair-haired girl in his dream by that name, she'd hoped it was a coincidence. "When were you going to tell me this?"

"I... I was foolish. I had hoped it might... go overlooked?"

"Overlooked? _Overlooked?_ You stand as son and brother to the two people leading our enemies, who have put prices on our heads, who we may well have to kill, and you thought it might go _overlooked?_"

He visibly flinched. "They betrayed the Wardens and Primus Kallian. They betrayed _me_," he said quietly. "I will see justice for our Order."

"You say that now," Neira shook her head. "But when we fight them, face to face..."

"I will not fail you," Zevran promised gravely. "I have already resigned myself to the... the cost."

Neira took his pro-offered hand. He seemed certain now, but she privately wondered how _anyone _could keep a promise such as that.

* * *

><p>She was pacing the edge of camp, wondering about the implications of Leliana's revelation - that she had served a lady of the Tirashan as a bard, using her fine voice and human allure to seduce or spy upon Erlina's political rivals - when she heard the soft footfalls behind her. She stopped, and he came up behind her. Close, she could tell by the way the air felt around her and the camp sounds broke around him. "Yes, Alistair?"<p>

"What happened?"

He sounded genuinely baffled. She turned around in surprise - and yes, he _was _that close. "What do you mean, 'what happened'?"

"We were... in the Dreamlands?" She nodded. "A trap, you said. I was wrestling with Cailan, and I was going to win - but he kept slipping away, so I'd go for him again, and then again, and... that would have kept on forever?"

"Until you died, yes," she said, then reconsidered. "Although if the sloth demon had truly held our souls in its thrall... perhaps past death as well."

He shuddered and made a subtle gesture with his hands. _To ward off evil,_she thought. "Then I am deeply in your debt," he rumbled, "as you broke its spell. It was cunning of you to distract the shade in that fashion."

"Oh, no," she said quickly. "We are comrades-in-arms. There is no debt."

"Do not seek to deny me this," he said, and she wondered again how eyes so light could yet be so intense. "This was more than the defense of the body; you saved my very soul. This _requires_- "

"Nothing! It requires nothing. I didn't save you, Alistair," Neira protested heatedly. That set him back, she saw. "I didn't. You... you saved yourself, and me as well." She could feel the heat rising in her face, and prayed to whatever god or spirit would hear that he didn't ask for further explanation.

"Did I?" He sounded almost... speculative.

"You're... you're not going to insist that I... _owe_ you..." she swallowed, "_something _for that, are you?"

He rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest. "Your honor is your own," he replied, voice carefully neutral.

She cursed inwardly. _He _had been willing to make some sort of pledge, and if she would not reciprocate, she knew she would lose credibility as a leader in his eyes. And it had already been an uphill battle to earn what respect she had from him. "I am in your debt," she sighed.

He uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Her heart suddenly hammered in her chest. "Alistair, I - wait!" But he pulled her to him and pressed his lips to hers.

She could have channeled mana into strength, as she had before, or used a glyph to push him away, or even simply put him to sleep. She could have told him, firmly and in no uncertain terms, that the debt would be repaid in other coin.

But she didn't.

A dream-stream in the summer sun ran through the back of her mind as she melted against him, those corded arms around her like the stoutest oaken shield, a promise of protection and safety. The kiss was an insistent demand, _more, more_, and her lips parted almost of their own accord. The wiry bristles of hair surrounding his lips scratched her skin lightly as he tilted his head to the other side, twisting his lips on hers. She snaked one arm around his waist, the other pressed to his chest; he slid one hand up her back to tangle in her dark hair. He growled, low in the back of his throat, and the sound made her knees _buckle_.

He broke the kiss then but didn't pull away. "I find I am well repaid," he murmured, running his fingers through her hair.

And then he turned and walked back to the fire, where the other two were very carefully engrossed in mending their gear.

* * *

><p>Morrigan, Alistair, and Dane the wolf-hound stood beyond the low wall surrounding the ruined temple as the two elves and the Devoted thanked their Creators for leading them to the site of the First Hearth of Sylaise. "I suppose we should feel clever," Morrigan said. The Avvar berserker looked down at her. "Their gods had to teach them the way of fire," she explained, waving toward the ruins. "I assume when our people arrived on these shores, they already had the trick of it."<p>

"Our elders say the fox stole fire from the sun, which is why the tips of his ears and his nose are black," Alistair replied. He paused, then added, "Although I don't see how a fox could carry fire."

"Tis a fancy, a fable to explain an event lost to memory," Morrigan explained confidently. "I've no primitive fear of the moon such that I must place my faith in tales so that I may sleep at night."

"...Good for you?"

"Nor could I imagine such a one as you carrying on like that," Morrigan surreptitiously indicated Leliana. "A sleek little lapdog, isn't she? Have you heard stories about the bards of the Tirashan? They _train _their humans for pleasure, to roll on their backs and spread their legs when their master or mistress requires it for some ridiculous court intrigue. Can you even imagine, performing at the beck and call of some elf?"

"I certainly cannot imagine talking in circles, if I had something I wished to say."

She laughed at that. "Tis fair, I suppose. Only watch yourself, Alistair. T'would be a shame to see such a fine war-dog reduced to a pampered and powdered pet."

He looked down at her, suddenly grinning broadly. "You're jealous."

"Tis nothing of the sort!" she scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "As one wild creature to another, I say merely that I know the traps these hunters lay."

He was still grinning. "As you like. I'll be sure to keep an eye out for them, then."

"You will not be so jolly," she warned, "when you find yourself enmeshed in a snare."

"I'll have Dane gnaw my leg off."

"Fine," she sighed and crossed her arms. "_Be _that way."

* * *

><p>The Sacred Ashes from the First Hearth restored health to Valendrian, a hahren of some influence in the Conclave, and a good friend of Cyrion Tabris, the late Primus's father. He would go ahead to Brecilia, the great city within the ancient forest, and take counsel with Cyrion prior to calling the Conclave once the Wardens returned from Orzammar. "It is unheard of for the Primus and the general of the Arcane Warriors to be the same person," Valendrian said, shaking his head. "Many of the hahren think this is unwise, and that Zathrian is grasping for power. Others are only too glad to see a strong leader as the Blight approaches, and the conflict has led to bloodshed at a time when we can ill afford it. If we call the Conclave, we can settle the issue and move on to deal with the Blight."<p>

"And what if the Conclave affirms Zathrian as Primus?" asked Neira.

"We must give them a better choice," Valendrian said. "I expect Cyrion to have some ideas along those lines. Meet me at his estate in Brecilia when you are ready."

* * *

><p>From the bridge, they saw the sudden glint of twin daggers rising behind the emissary. "Go, go, go!" Zevran urged Alistair and Oghren forward. Leliana would have the darkspawn mage dead before they could get there, but then the bard would be surrounded by his pet spiders. Spiders, they'd been learning in Ortan Thaig, were dangerous in large numbers.<p>

Morrigan and Neira merely stood, ready to throw spells from a safe distance. Neira held back her fireballs and tempests, and used more precise methods of destruction instead. Morrigan's entropic magic slowed, confused and even paralyzed the spiders, making them easy prey for the warriors.

It was over quickly, and with few injuries. They paused to get their breath back; Alistair grunted, "I think we work well together."

"About time, isn't it?" Neira grinned at him. But it _was _thrilling, to have the team working as one, with tactics honed over a long and bloody year making them a formidable force indeed.

"Tits of my Ancestors!" Oghren roared suddenly. "Look there! A camp!" Indeed, in the weird half-light of this place, they could see discarded chests and other durgen'len detritus, including a large bench that looked terribly out of place. "It must've been Branka's!"

"We found it!" Neira cheered, until she saw that Oghren was pelting past her toward the abandoned camp. "Oghren, no! Don't get ahead of the group!"

She dashed after him, thinking that the others would be right behind her. They needed Oghren to persuade Branka, after all - he couldn't be allowed to just go running straight into uncharted territory. "Oghren, stop!"

"Whatza matter, Warden?" The durgen'len skidded around. "It's all empty, there's nothing around here that'll - "

And then the spiders dropped from the ceiling.

Fire erupted from Neira's hands, and she risked a glance back over her shoulder. Her team _had _followed her, but a few seconds of surprise had made enough difference that the spiders were between her and them. She angled her hands at two more, thinking to freeze them so that Oghren could shatter them with his battleaxe, when one jumped at her.

Neira went down under its weight, pinned by the heavy carapace to the stone floor. Fangs sank into the flesh beneath her collarbone and she screamed. Poison burned in her blood and the fangs withdrew, only to strike again, and again...

Through the pain and panic, she was dimly aware that her companions - her friends - were gathered around it, trying to kill it before it could kill her. Morrigan kept the rest of the pack at bay as steel rose and fell, trying to pierce the spider's chitinous armor. A pair of swords - _must be Zevran_- scissored alarmingly close to her face, and a leg fell away. The spider chittered but, having seven others, did not miss the one very much.

Neira's vision was tunneling when she heard Alistair's berserker cry. The huge dark shape that was the spider suddenly _rolled_ off of her, as if one side had been lifted and pushed up and over. _Simple solution, although infeasible given the size of the spider..._ was all she could think as she passed out.


	4. Chapter 4

_It was close, so **close**. She should go, run, find it, become lost in it... but her legs wouldn't work right. She was lying on stone; rolling over, she tried to pull herself along with her arms to reach that ineffable communion. Pain didn't matter; fatigue didn't matter. They would be erased, she somehow knew, once she achieved her goal._

_The strange warmth was unwelcome even as it eased the ache in her arms and chest. It was drawing her back, away from what she sought, lifting her up through ancient layers of rock as if it were sun-warmed water until she broke the surface and -_

Neira gasped as she awoke. She _tried _to sit up, but the ache in her chest became a searing pain as she did. "There you are," Morrigan, kneeling beside her, murmured, hands still glowing with healing energies. "You are weak; do not try to heal yourself. Just rest for now." She rocked back onto her feet and stood. "The others will be by to fawn upon you momentarily, no doubt."

One was already there. "Warden?" The durgen'len's voice was husky, and when Neira turned her head to see him, she thought that he looked exhausted. "You can take a piece outta my sorry hide, if you want it," he said slowly. "Running ahead like a stupid raw recruit like that... I shoulda known better, and it cost you. I'm sorry."

She blinked but gave a small nod. "Apology accepted, Oghren," she said weakly. "Just _do not _do that again. Ever. Even if it's Branka herself standing there."

"Aye, Warden."

And then, as Morrigan predicted, the others were crowding around her. Leliana took the initiative in fussing, gently lifting the elf into an upright sitting position and letting her rest against her chest and shoulder. A cup of water was pressed into her hand and she drank it gratefully. "So... we won?" she finally asked.

"It was a near thing, but... yes. We won," Zevran said from her left side.

"We'll have to rest here for a few days," Leliana said from behind her. "I think we all have some wounds, but Morrigan has been saving her spells for you."

"Saving her... how long have I been out?"

"Near to a day," Alistair rumbled from her right. "I think. Hard to tell down here."

Neither Neira nor Morrigan were truly healers; their magic reduced recovery times from weeks to days, but it was no miracle cure. If Morrigan had been continuously healing her for a full _day _and she was only waking up now... it must have been a near thing, indeed.

Oghren was the first to excuse himself; he had not slept since the battle and was about to fall over from fatigue. Behind her, Leliana shifted slightly. "We should get back to our posts," she said - to Zevran, it seemed to Neira. "We're keeping one guard on the bridge and one on the tunnel forward," she told the Warden. "Nothing is going to get in here without us knowing. Now, do you want to lay back down?"

"I'd like to eat," Neira admitted.

"Lay her down and get back on watch," Alistair said. "I'll get some food for her."

Neira smiled weakly at him as Leliana, assisted by Zevran, gently eased her back down. The two departed, Leliana with a fond smile and a wave, Zevran with a solemn nod and a dark glance toward the barbarian. Alistair departed soundlessly, returning quickly with a bowl of something warm. "Is that a stew?" she marveled.

"We found a... warren? sounder? of nugs. Lots to eat." He set the bowl down beside her and edged fingers under either shoulder. "Don't try to help."

"Don't worry, I - oh!" He lifted her torso almost effortlessly, and she found herself upright and sitting again, one large hand on her left shoulder and the other at the small of her back. "You make that seem easy."

"Well, it's not hard," he chuckled, settling himself behind her. When his broad chest was pressed against her back, he slid his hands away. "Just relax," he reminded her. "I'll hold you up. Let the muscles rest."

It hurt a little to arrange her arms, but she did not want him feeding her the stew. She was injured, but not _that _badly. Once the bowl was placed in her hands, small motions of her hand and wrist didn't trouble her torn pectorals and she could feed herself. "Thank you," she said, after a half-dozen bites.

"Morrigan cooked it," he replied.

She ate a bit more until her hunger began to fade. Memories of the battle were coming back, in bits, and she tilted her head back to look up at him. "Did you _throw _that spider off of me?"

"Throw? Oh, no. It was... more of a roll," he grinned. "And you should have seen Zevran get out of its way."

She laughed and wished she hadn't. "Oh, don't do that! It hurts to laugh."

"Sorry," he apologized absently. "I just didn't see another way to get it off of you and it looked like... like there wasn't much time for a better plan."

"I suppose I owe you another debt for saving my life again." The words popped out before she had a chance to consider them.

Gently, moving carefully around her injuries, he wrapped a strong arm around her waist. It felt warm, protective, and she felt a little sigh escape her lips. "If you want kisses, you do not have to court death to have them, Warden," he chided her.

She had to turn her head and crane her neck back, sliding her head across his chest toward his shoulder, to see his eyes. "What _do_ I have to do?"

He bent his neck until his face was a mere breath from her own. His words were barely above a whisper: "Just take them."

It was bold and felt a little wanton; only _that sort_ of woman fancied human men, they said; only someone so debauched that a normal man could no longer satisfy her would turn to their exaggerated charms. She didn't think she was _that sort_, but she _wanted_ him and was tired of pretending that she did not. The road had been long and hard, and she'd just been nearly killed by a spider, and the taint was killing her slowly, if the nightmares didn't drive her mad first, and there was suddenly _not enough time_ and whatever _they _thought seemed small and trivial in comparison.

Softly but purposefully, she leaned forward, brushing his lips with her own. Then again, a little harder; and again, the tip of her tongue tracing a light line along his lower lip. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, a gentler cousin to the growl that had accompanied their first, more violent kiss. She hummed back and opened her mouth slightly, slowly deepening the kiss; he responded in kind, letting her set the rhythm.

It was slow and soft and deep, a welcome balm on her pain. She broke it off, reluctantly, when her neck began to protest the angle. They stared into each other for a long moment afterwards until, with a small apologetic smile, she stretched her neck and turned her face forward again.

Undeterred, he leaned further down to nuzzle at the side of her neck, light nips and swirls of the tongue that made her catch her breath. She felt like she could happily endure these ministrations for hours, but he paused, lips by her ear. "Will you go with me?" he asked. "When we are gone from this forsaken place, Korth's own bowels, I mean."

"Go with you?" she echoed. "I... I can't go, I have to stop the Blight, and - _unnh!_" He interrupted her with a light nibble on the rise of her ear.

He chuckled quietly. "And here I thought elves were the subtle ones. Nowhere distant, Warden. Just to bed."

_"Oh."_ She opened her mouth to reply, but for a moment, no words came. Her long family line, her success at the Aerie, even her recruitment into the Grey Wardens seemed to loom, reminding her that she was _not that sort_, that _ladies_ did not lie with human men, and if they by chance _did_ want to, they certainly didn't _say_ it. So instead, she tentatively slid her hand from its resting place in her lap to his, where it curved around her waist. Lacing her fingers between his, she squeezed. The silent affirmation somehow made it a _fait accompli_, and she was able to say with words, "I will."

* * *

><p>They <em>all<em> wanted to leave Orzammar. Five longed to stand under the open sky, to see the sun and feel the wind on their faces. The sixth feared those things, but feared a lingering death surrounded by his ghosts and shame more.

But the new king's healer insisted that Devoted Leliana was in no condition to move, not even through the Hall of Heroes to the surface. A heavy blow from Branka's mace had cracked the bard's shin. A combination of magic, splints and drugs had allowed her to make it back from the Deep Roads, but she needed rest off her feet. Morrigan, feeling particularly oppressed by the stone, was unwilling to wait; she took Oghren with her and departed for the surface, saying that she'd find Dane in the merchant camp and wait for them all out there. The other three remained at the royal palace, unwilling to leave their friend alone as she recovered.

* * *

><p>Neira startled at the knock on her chamber door, coming out of a reverie of lyrium and fire and song. "Come," she called, and was not surprised to see Alistair enter.<p>

He glanced briefly around the room, uncharacteristically hesitant. "I don't... usually do this by appointment," he admitted. "Takes some of the spontaneity out of it."

"Alistair..." she said, and sighed. "It's... not a good time." His brows drew together. They were rested, they were fed, they had privacy and even beds. She gestured helplessly. "I can't... The things we saw, the secrets we learned, the choices we - _I_- made... it's too much. I just keep playing things over and over again in my mind..." Her eyes slid from his to stare into the middle distance, seeing visions of half-formed monsters squirming in fleshy pods, molten lyrium pouring from a crucible, the beautiful and terrible Archdemon itself winging through the cavern.

And then suddenly his face was there, just inches from hers, as he knelt on one knee in front of her chair. Before she could even properly focus on him, he reached a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her into kiss, as insistent and heated as the first one they'd shared. She made a small sound of surprise, but when she raised her hands, it was to place them on either side of his face, holding him as tightly as he held her.

Then he let go of her neck, both his hands dropping to the arms of the chair to support his weight as he leaned suddenly forward, pressing her back. He broke the kiss with a quick turn of his head; "You need to think less," he growled in her ear.

She clutched at his back in agreement. "Help me," she whispered.

He found her mouth again, pushing so hard her head was pinned to the chair back. It was a savage, devouring kiss, and for a long moment she just lay there under it, letting his tongue roam and plunder and his teeth nip and bite, until all thoughts and doubts fled under the onslaught. _Then_ she let the arcane strength come in and pushed _back_, moving on pure need. She _needed_ to taste him, to map his mouth with hers, to feel his lip under her tongue.

She stroked a thumb hard down his jaw line; the movement drew her attention to the curve of his neck and she was on it, tasting the salt of his skin and nipping - no, _biting_, lost in a haze of violent passion.

She gasped and cried out when he gave her delicate ear a similar treatment. He must've heard the note of surprised pain, because he did not do that again. Instead, he lashed at it with his tongue, making her shudder and twist on the edge of her seat.

Leaning forward in the chair was suddenly no longer enough. She pressed farther forward, thinking to lay him back onto the floor - but to her surprise, one of his arms suddenly pressed across her back and the other scooped under her behind, lifting her from the chair entirely as he stood. With a slight toss and a twist, he had her sideways across his chest, one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulders. He turned to step toward the bed.

Her eyes fastened on the neckline of his shirt, the keyhole down the center loosely laced together. The shirt was _in the way_ and _needed_ to go. _Now._ She grabbed either side of the opening and pulled with her magically-enhanced strength. Linen tore and Alistair swore quietly in surprise as he laid her on the bed. She pushed it impatiently off his shoulders and ran her hands greedily over his chest. It was broad and firm and warm, but her interest was momentarily caught by the _hair_. Elven men were so much smoother in comparison... it was neither off-putting nor attractive to her, but it was _different_ and she wanted to know _all about it_. Propping herself up on one arm, she investigated with fingers, lips and tongue while he undid the ties of her robe. When it fell open, they both finally paused to get their remaining clothes _off _and away.

Then he fell back onto her, hard and heavy, arms like thick oaken branches to either side of her. Panting, she arched against him, wrapped her legs around his waist.

And he went curiously still.

She wrapped her arms around him and tried pulling him down closer, but he remained braced just above her, eyes clouded and unreadable. "What?" she demanded, suddenly confused and frustrated.

His head started to dip, paused, and then came the rest of the way down to her face, his mouth finding hers for a kiss unlike the other - soft, gentle, leisurely. She whined into it and arched again, reaching with her body for that mad and mindless passion of a moment ago.

"I'm not a brute," he said quietly into her ear. There was just the slightest hint of reproach, a suspicion that _all_ he might be to her was a caricature, a savage human lover fit for wild rutting and little else.

She let go with her legs, planted her feet on the bed and pushed with all her arcane strength, rolling him over and straddling him. "I am," she panted. "Tonight, I am."

He accepted that with a small thoughtful nod, then grinned wolfishly. "So take me, you little beast."

* * *

><p>When he stilled, some time later, she fell forward onto that curiously hairy chest, and they both lay there for a long time, entwined and breathless. Finally, she hesitantly lifted her head to kiss him. Gently.<p>

He returned it and asked, a little hoarsely, "Have I ever mentioned what a pleasure it is to serve under you?"


	5. Chapter 5

"Zevran." Her voice was flat in her own ears.

"Yes, my friend?" He replied without looking at her, deft fingers twisting metal rings to repair his elven chain mail. His tone was _studied _nonchalance.

That's how it had been since Orzammar. And Neira was frankly tired of it. "Is there something you want to _say _to me?" she asked pointedly.

He paused in his work for a moment, then resumed and shook his head. "No. No, I think not."

She grabbed the armor away from him and dropped it to the ground. He finally turned to look up at her, glaring. "Is this what I have to do to get your attention?" she demanded. "Fine. You've got a problem, _allan'isa_, and I think we should clear the air about it _before _we reach the Brecilian Forest."

He stood stiffly, stalked over to the fallen armor, and bent to pick it up. Straightening, he took two steps so that he stood directly in front of her. "It is _my_ problem," he said crisply. "Please leave it at that, for dignity's sake."

He turned away, but she caught him by the shoulder. "Dignity? That _is_ what it's about, isn't it? You think I'm being _undignified_, acting in a manner unsuitable for a leader of the Wardens?"

"What? What are you _on_ about, woman?" He shoved her hand brusquely away. "I will follow you to the Black City and beyond, but let me _be!_"

She stared at his back, suddenly uncertain. "Zevran?"

"You are very cruel," he said, voice subdued. "You wish me to make myself a fool? For you, I shall."

"Wait, Zevran, no. I thought - "

He did not turn around. "It is a common enough fancy. A mage needs an _allan'isa_, an _allan'isa _has no purpose without a mage. Glad are they who respect each other; blessed are they who find a friend; exalted are they who... who find love."

Neira felt her heart sink. "Zevran... you _are_ my _allan'isa_. And my brother Warden. But..."

"I know," he said harshly. "It is _my _problem, as I said. Is this air clear enough for you?"

"I... I'm sorry."

He shook his head, and when he spoke, his voice was again quiet. "Please. Leave me."

Troubled, she departed for her tent.

* * *

><p>Valendrian paced under the leafy roof of his Brecilia estate. "I have bad news. I've spoken with Cyrion Tabris. He assures me many of the nobility would be glad to support Kallian's Second, her cousin Shianni, as the new Primus."<p>

"That... sounds like good news," Neira said cautiously.

"Alas, Zathrian has _also _heard these rumors." A human servant who had been standing nearby twisting her fingers anxiously stepped forward with a curtsy. "Please forgive my interruption. I am Anora, the Second's handmaiden. I witnessed one of Zathrian's lieutenants come and take my lady away, surely to prevent her from challenging him in the Conclave."

"Who has her?" Zevran asked.

"Her name is Panowen; her husband was killed fighting in the vanguard at Korcari Fortress and she seems to entirely lay the fault for that at the feet of the Tabris line," Anora reported.

"You're very well-informed," Neira said, raising an eyebrow.

Anora lowered her eyes and curtsied again. "I am a good listener, Warden. And resourceful. I have obtained four sets of Panowen's livery, which may enable you to sneak into her estate to rescue my lady..."

* * *

><p>"This way! I felt the ward go down!"<p>

The Wardens and their companions were brought up short by the voice between them and the exit ahead. "Quickly, before they see us!" Neira hissed to Alistair and Leliana. "Get Lady Shianni to safety!"

"I'm not leaving you behind," Alistair rumbled.

"For the love of the Creators, go! We need her for the Conclave and Leliana can't safeguard her alone! There is no time to argue; please, just go!"

Alistair started to protest, pointing to Zevran as if to suggest that the other Warden should be the one to go - but the _allan'isa _was already stepping forward, swords out but arms open wide. "Lanaya!" he called.

_"Zevran?"_The shock seemed to indicate that he was buying them a few precious moments of surprise.

"Go!" Neira ordered him again, and - reluctantly - he complied.

"I didn't want to believe it," the fair-haired mage was saying as she slowly approached, guards forming up behind her. "I'd hoped it was all a misunderstanding..."

"No misunderstanding," Zevran said grimly. "We were abandoned and left to die. By Father."

"This _cannot _be right," Lanaya said, sounding so pained that Neira was near to believing her. "He loves you, Zevran, and I know he'll forgive everything - "

"Forgive? What is there to forgive? That I failed to die? That we cured the man he was _poisoning?_Oh, that we told the Avvar he was lying to them? Tell me, which is my crime?"

"Please, please just come and talk with him! We _must _be able to fix this without bloodshed."

He glanced at Neira and swallowed uncomfortably. "And what if I refuse, sister dear?"

She looked at the pair of them calmly. "I won't strike at you, Zevran, but I have orders from Father to take the other Warden into custody. You'll stop me, but all the archers behind me will also target her."

Neira blanched. There were wards against arrows, but as a Primal mage, she didn't know them. She had spells that would destroy _all_ of the archers, but not before they'd loosed one or even two volleys; everything faster would only target half the room at best. "Zev..." she murmured uncertainly.

"Your wish?" he asked in an undertone.

"Surrender."

* * *

><p>"Taken <em>where?<em>" Alistair demanded.

"Fort Garahel, most likely," Lady Shianni said. "It's the headquarters for the Arcane Warriors. It will be... difficult to get in."

"I will turn it to a _charnel house_ if that is what it takes!" the Avvar spat. "We should go at once!"

"That's madness," Devoted Leliana protested. "We will get them back, but a more subtle approach..."

"A 'more subtle approach' is what led to this disaster!"

"Would you care to have Dane gnaw on the right leg, or the left?" Morrigan murmured, examining her staff.

He turned and leveled a warning finger at her. _"Don't._ Don't even start."

"Is this truly necessary at all?" Anora, seated on a stool at her lady's feet, raised her head. "Might it even be detrimental?"

Lady Shianni frowned. "They saved my life, Anora. It is hardly meet to suggest that - "

"They saved your life so you could unite the region, my lady. You are now free to do so. Launching an attack on Primus Zathrian will only undermine your image as a voice of reasonable unity. I am... sorry to say such a thing, but it is true."

Alistair wheeled on her, and Leliana put herself pointedly in the way. "You should stay out of this," he warned Anora, glaring over Leliana's shoulder.

The human woman cringed. "It is my duty to protect my - "

"I was _going_ to stay out of... whatever you're doing here, but now you're in my way." He squinted at her for a moment. "Rowan, right? Rowan An Ora O Tir. There was talk of you singing for Cailan."

She got up from the footstool quickly. "I... I don't know what you mean."

"I _asked_ myself what a chieftain's daughter could be doing playing maid to an elven lady, and do you know, I said, Alistair, that's not your business. _Maybe_ Clan Tir exiled her."

"Clan Tir?" Lady Shianni looked up sharply. "They've been raiding the north coasts for years, executing _horrible _atrocities."

"He's... he's mistaken," Anora insisted. "I'm... not this Rowan person he seems to think I am."

"But now you're talking about leaving the Grey Wardens imprisoned, when we need the Wardens to stop the Blight. So I have to ask myself, who in the hills would be _mad_ enough to think that he could use the _Blight _to kill off some elves?"

"Loghain O Tir," Lady Shianni said, staring at her maidservant in disbelief. "From all that I have heard of the man, yes... yes, he would do that."

"But I'm not his daughter!" the maid exclaimed. "He's... just trying to discredit me, my lady!"

Morrigan unfolded from the couch where she'd been curled. "You are accusing _Alistair _of subtlety? Tis hardly to be credited."

Valendrian, eyebrows lost somewhere by his hairline, nodded in agreement. "I do not have a particularly _long_ acquaintance with them, Lady, but the Avvar man has been nothing if not honest. Frequently rudely and tactlessly."

But the Lady Shianni still hesitated. "She has served me ably and well for three years now, hahren. That counts for something. Anora, you will be confined to your quarters until we can sort this out. Anything you need will be brought to you."

She curtsied, trembling just a bit. "Yes, my lady." She went quietly with a pair of guards.

"Do you see? Would Loghain O Tir's daughter go like a lamb?" Shianni asked, shaking her head.

Alistair crossed his arms. "I _know _her face. I'd bet a tenweight of gold that she's gone in the morning, if I cared." He paused to take a breath, then asked the important question. "Are you going to listen to her?"

"No," Shianni said firmly. "I cannot order their release, but any assistance you require in securing their freedom, you will have."

"And I think I have a plan..." said Leliana.

* * *

><p>"...favored by Elgar'nan! Why, I have never even heard of a human so favored before. The High Priest must know of this."<p>

The guards exchanged glances, then looked the Devoted and her hulking charge over. "The main temple is within the city, Devoted."

Leliana crossed her arms and tilted her head impatiently. "Did you hear me? I said _Elgar'nan._If the spirit descends upon him in the city, what will happen? No, this is the safest place."

The guards still hesitated; on cue, Alistair started to look around, growling ominously. "Hurry!" Leliana implored them. "Get the High Priest and bring incense and holy water." She reached out to stroke Alistair's arm, and the growling subsided. "I can calm him, but not for too long. Hurry!"

The guards raced off, and the Devoted sprang lightly forward to catch the door before it could close behind them. "And we're in," she said smugly.

* * *

><p>Once inside, Leliana's robes and demeanor kept them moving forward without too many questions, until they slipped from the common areas. "Just remember, we don't want to fight the entire fortress," Leliana whispered.<p>

"Maybe _you _don't."

"_Alistair..._"

Oddly enough, _he_ didn't want to fight the entire fortress, either. He _would_, if it came to that, but what he _wanted_ was Neira. He unlimbered his axe and targe and went to go and get her.

* * *

><p>He had, at times, been dismissive of Leliana and her tiny little blades. But here, where every other guard was some sort of sorcerer, he was immensely grateful. One wizard, he could handle. <em>Two<em> were so much more trouble, since one could freeze you or put you to sleep or send your muscles into bone-snapping spasms while you killed the other one. Leliana always made sure there was one less sorcerer around by the time he got into the battle, and it made all the difference.

"They're not very sturdy, are they?" he asked, wrenching his blade out of a body.

According to the map Lady Shianni had provided, the prisoners would be behind the iron door just ahead of them. So would their guards, in greater numbers than the small patrols they'd dispatched so far. "I'll get it open," Leliana said. "You charge through and I'll slip in so I can circle around behind... whomever we find." Alistair grunted approval. Leliana fiddled with the lock for a few moments then stood, nodded, and pressed herself against the wall.

Alistair kicked the door open. Easily a half dozen armored men snapped to, and he heard Neira call his name. He charged, roaring his clan name, so they would know who had sent them to their Creators Beyond. Four of the fools crowded around him, like trees in the forest ready to be felled. His axe rose and fell, and blood painted the walls.

The air hummed with magic. _Neira?_ he wondered briefly. But no, he could dimly hear her shouting, something about Leliana. _Doesn't matter_, his blood sang. _We're going to kill them all, **kill them, kill...**_

The fourth guard fell and Alistair looked up, panting, for more targets. Two, across the room, where Leliana... was stopped, unmoving?

Then the giant, unseen hand suddenly gripped him, lifting him from the ground and _squeezing_. The breath rushed out of him and he couldn't draw another, not even to scream as he felt ribs snap.

There was a faint white-violet glow from the floor of the cell where Neira stood, gripping the bars with white knuckles. Then it suddenly flashed and spilled out, more like mist than like light, flowing over Leliana and toward him. Although the sight was black around the edges, he saw the bard spring back into action, daggers eviscerating the nearest sorcerer. Then the white mist rolled over him, and the giant hand abruptly vanished, dropping him to the ground.

His legs propelled him toward the other sorcerer even before his head had cleared; you didn't need to _think_ to berserk, just _feel_, and he had pain and rage in plenty. As a blast of arcane energy sent the bard reeling back, his axe flashed out. The head and body fell separately.

He stood over the corpse, panting, waiting for the thunder in his blood to pass. Distantly, he heard metallic sounds, jingles and creaks, and then Neira was at his side. He turned to press her face between his hands - but he was still holding his axe. And they were still in the middle of escaping.

She paused only long enough to press a fervent kiss to his gore-stained hand, whisper "Thank you," and then dashed past him to a cabinet against the wall. Throwing the door open, she grabbed a handful of small crystal vials and started to drink down the glittering blue liquid within.

She'd tossed back three before returning, a little unsteady on her feet. She put her hands on him and white, healing light pulsed from them, rolling over his wounds. He grunted, surprised that the mending hurt. "I'm fixing more, faster," she explained, slurring the words a little. The color of her eyes was nearly gone, a thin ring of blue around wide black pupils. "Let me... let me help Zevran. Leliana?"

"Nothing serious, Warden," the bard reported. "A few cuts. They can wait."

"All right," Neira agreed. She made her way back to the _allan'isa_, who seemed to be making every effort just to sit himself upright in the cell. He muttered something unintelligible, to which Neira answered shortly, "Shut up." The white light shone again and when it faded, Zevran wobbled to his feet.

Neira bolted the contents of two more bottles while Zevran reclaimed their gear. "We are going to move quickly," she muttered. "Because I'm going to _destroy_anything in our way and there might be some splatter."

Alistair found himself grinning, although it hardly seemed the time or place for it. "We are with you, little beast."


	6. Chapter 6

It was a week later. Fueled with anger and lyrium, Neira had blasted their way back out of Fort Garahel. They had to stop her from leveling the place with an earthquake, pointing out that it might be needed, and soon, to defend against the Blight. They'd rested and recovered at hahren Valendrian's estate, where indeed, Rowan An Ora had managed to slip from her room and escape.

Zevran had overheard some dark whisperings between a few of the arcane warriors that sent them to the docks next. It was the poorest part of town, crowded with humans who were the preferred longshoremen - bigger, broader backs could carry more at once, after all. And it was there that they'd found the hidden shrine to the Forgotten Ones, the gods of fear, malice and disease. They set free the captives, destroyed the shrine, and took the evidence of Zathrian's complicity in the matter. It shook all of them save Oghren, who didn't understand the depth of the taboo broken. Grasping after political power was one thing, but this...

So it was Oghren who first spotted the trouble. "Somebody's waitin' for us up ahead, Warden," the durgen'len reported. "And I reckon he's got friends."

Leliana faded into the shadows as the rest of them readied themselves and approached. "So it _is_Maric's lesser son," the human said, picking himself up off the haycart he'd been leaning on. Although he appeared to be wearing simple clothes, at this close range they could hear the chain mail clinking underneath it. "I would have thought you more canny."

"Good day to you, Bann Loghain O Tir," Alistair replied cautiously. "I would not have expected to find you within Brecilia's walls."

"Nor I, you," the older man agreed, his long side-braids swaying as he nodded. "And yet here we find ourselves."

"Your daughter is safely to you, I trust?"

"Indeed she is, no thanks to your meddling. Whose side are you on, Alistair O Thierin?" The feared warleader, scourge of the northern coast, folded his arms across his chest.

"There are archers on the rooftops around us," Morrigan murmured.

"And I count six laborers so far who have stopped their work," Zevran added in an undertone.

"Seven," Oghren corrected. "Ya missed th' whore over there, elf."

Neira leveled a glare at the Avvar chief. "Bann Cailan Ar Rowan sent Alistair with me to help stop the coming Blight. The Blight doesn't _take _sides. We should, all of us, be united against it. In fact, Bann Cailan should be summoning the Avvar tribes to stand with the Wardens under our ancient treaty..."

"A terrible pity I have not been in the Ice Mountains to _see_ this treaty," Loghain replied. "Certainly _I_ did not sign it, so I feel my obligation to be... rather light."

"Then let O Tir retire from the field of battle, and the real men will fight the Archdemon," Alistair retorted.

Loghain only laughed. "When you've fought as many battles as I have, boy, you may speak to me about 'real men.' But I asked _you_, not your elven keeper, under whose banner you now fight."

"It is as she says," he replied, brow furrowed. "I am O Thierin yet, as that one is of Orzammar and that one of the Wilds, but we fight together under the banner of the Grey Wardens."

"The _elves_, you mean."

"These two Wardens are elves, yes."

"Not what I meant," Loghain said dryly. "Alistair, you destroyed a most valuable treasure when you revealed Rowan. Perhaps it was from ignorance. But you have done irrevocable harm to the cause of humanity in Brecilia. Were you nearly any other man, I would have already struck you down on the spot. However, I swore a blood-oath of friendship with your father, and so for his sake, I will ask you this first: Will you carry an offer of alliance with Clan Tir to your brother?"

"The Avvar hill tribes are pledged by treaty - " Neira started angrily.

"Do you know nothing of our people? We are 'shemlen,' are we not? Quick, changeable. Nothing is permanent with the Avvar, _especially_ not our alliances." He looked at Alistair. "You were sent to fight for these elves and you have, for a time. The pledge is honored. But now is the time for Korth's children to return to the mountains and gather our strength while our enemies bleed out before us. We will never see an opportunity like this again! We will retake the plains and the coasts; no longer will our children be taken for changelings. You must _see _this!"

Alistair looked down at Neira. She looked back with nothing but trust in her eyes.

Perhaps he should have made a defiant statement, boldly declaring his allegiance with the Wardens - with Neira. But he wasn't going to give the foremost warrior of the age a single advantage, if he could help it. Without further warning, he lifted his axe and charged.

Loghain's hand disappeared into the haycart, seeking a hidden weapon, and the entire street erupted in combat.

* * *

><p>"It is a matter for the hahren. You should know this. Go back." Lanaya blocked the entrance to the Conclave with body and staff. "Let them deliberate as is proper."<p>

"We are bringing evidence the Conclave needs to see," Neira replied.

"The Conclave has already begun. You cannot - "

"Show her," Zevran said quietly. "Do not give it to her but let her see it."

Neira displayed the bloodstained parchment. Warily, Lanaya dropped her eyes to read it. "What... No, he'd never sanction rites to the Forgotten Ones... This, this can't be..."

"It is," Neira said, voice hard. "Your father's gone mad. If he ever _had_a valid claim to the Primacy of Brecilia, it is forfeit now."

"Zevran?" Lanaya lifted tear-filled eyes to her brother.

"I was there. It is all true, Lanaya. He is not the man who saved us. He..." The _allan'isa _paused and swallowed, thinking the better of what he'd been about to say. "He is mad, as she says."

"Then go," the fair-haired sorceress said, standing aside suddenly. "This is too much. Stop him, but Zevran, please..."

"We make no promises," Neira said grimly, as they pushed forward into the chamber.

* * *

><p>"...and these outrageous claims do not address or justify your abandonment of the field nor your grab for power!" Lady Shianni was practically spitting.<p>

"Of course they do," Zathrian replied curtly. He turned his dark gaze on Neira and her companions as they entered. "Ah, Wardens. I expect you are coming from the docks, undoubtedly with secrets you believe will be my ruination."

"We have evidence," Neira said triumphantly, waving the parchment. "The Conclave can examine it for themselves."

"And I have evidence of my own," Zathrian said, turning gracefully to wave his hand at a series of vials laid out along a table, each one filled with bright red liquid. "Evidence of Grey Warden secrets, which I believe, once revealed, will secure the Conclave's support. Shall we present our findings, then? Or will you withdraw and take the Lady Shianni with you?"

"The vials... my blood, I think," Zevran whispered to Neira. "He may indeed have... learned things, although I told him nothing."

"Keeping secrets is Donarks' problem, not mine," Neira hissed back. Aloud, she said, "By all means, Primus. I believe the floor is yours."

Zathrian nodded and promptly addressed the assembly. "It is well documented that only the Grey Wardens can defeat an Archdemon," he reminded them. "Dumat was slain many times over two hundred years before the Wardens appeared and put an end to him. Prior to that, his essence would simply migrate to another darkspawn, transforming it into a new Archdemon. But when a Warden wields the blade, the monster dies. And, too late, I asked myself why this might be. My studies converged to a single hypothesis, which I was only of late able to prove out."

He moved to the table of vials and lapsed into magical jargon, speaking of lyrium emanations and sympathies and concordances. Many of the hahren were confused, but the sorcerers among them nodded as Zathrian explained his methodology. "...and the manifestations were in perfect alignment with those in the darkspawn sample. They are preserved here, if any would like to examine them."

There was a murmur from the assemblage; those that understood, anyway. "That would imply - " began one.

"That the Grey Wardens are themselves corrupted with the taint of these fallen Tevinter gods, and that they bear this corruption among us in secret," Zathrian concluded triumphantly. "And that explains the nature of their victory - the essence of the Archdemon is drawn to them, as it is to a darkspawn, but unlike the darkspawn, they maintain an essence of their own. The two cannot share a vessel, and the Archdemon and the Warden are destroyed. This is the only hypothesis which accounts for all of the documented facts, wise elders."

Hahren Paivel looked at the two stunned Grey Wardens. "What answer have you to these charges?"

"We... we _are _tainted," Neira finally admitted. She had been able to follow along with Zathrian's experimental procedure, and could find no obvious holes to discredit it. "As for the rest, I... I cannot say. I'm... I'm a new recruit..."

"And so we see the poisoned fruits of these dark secrets," Zathrian concluded. "One of the Aerie's most promising students, lured to this 'great order' and corrupted, without even full knowledge of the bargain. It is for this reason," he went on, raising his voice, "that I allowed the Wardens to fall at Korcari Fortress. These secrets and corruption - the corruption of the _Tevinter Empire_ - cannot be allowed to continue to fester and rot within our society."

"But... but you've doomed us!" exclaimed the sorcerer Marethari. "The Wardens are needed to stop the Blight, and now there are but these two!"

"I believe there is another way," Zathrian intoned. "Warden, I believe you have something you want to share with the Conclave."

Neira stared at the parchment in her hand. "This... this is your alternative? By the Creators, you are mad!" She looked around at the assembled elders and magi. "Primus Zathrian has permitted - no, encouraged and supported - worship of, and sacrifice to, the Forgotten Ones."

The chamber collectively gasped. "Primus, how do you answer these charges?" demanded hahren Paivel.

"I embrace them," Zathrian said levelly. "It is obvious that simple honest courage and skill will be insufficient to destroy the Archdemon. It failed in the past, and it will fail in the days to come. The evil must be answered with a power as great and as forbidden. But," and he had to raise his voice again, over the alarmed murmurings of the crowd, "it need not - it _should not_ be through obeisance to the lost human gods. The Forgotten Ones, for all their malice, are at the last _elven_ gods. And as we have triumphed over the Tevinter Imperium, so shall our gods triumph over - "

"Enough!" Hahren Paivel had lurched to his feet, face red and entire body quivering. "We have heard enough! Assembled Wisdom, how do you choose for the Primus of Brecilia: Zathrian or Shianni?"

It was a rout. Dane the wolf-hound would have been preferred to Zathrian at that moment. Whatever unease the elders now had regarding the Grey Wardens, they had the reassurance of centuries of dutiful work by the Order. But to worship the Forgotten Ones was a transgression that was impossible to overlook.

"You are all blind fools!" Zathrian spat as the vote became clear. "You are allowing an archaic code of morality bind you to a path that can only lead to your deaths."

"Because _you _betrayed the Wardens!" Shianni cried.

"Because I am _loyal_ to my people!" Zathrian retorted. "Unlike you _traitors!_Arcane Warriors, to me!" The air suddenly buzzed with eldritch energies, and the elders screamed and began to run for the doors. Most of the sorcerers remained, their own staves blazing with energy.

* * *

><p>Perhaps it was inevitable that they should find each other in the chaos. Perhaps his father had been looking for him.<p>

"Does your sister live?" Zathrian asked, watching warily as the _allan'isa _circled him. "Or did you put an end to her?"

"You think so little of me? Ah, but you have no problems shedding the blood of your kin," Zevran retorted. He was drained, as he suspected his father must also be.

"I knew you would survive the battle. You and Lanaya, you are both survivors," Zathrian said. "This was all done for you, you know."

"For me?"

"Of course. When you joined the Order, I had to learn its secrets. And when I began to suspect, I began to seek a cure. For you. And the seeking led to other things, but that is beside the point."

"That is _entirely _the point. And there is no cure."

"I know that now," Zathrian said sadly. "I am sorry." He gestured, and Zevran felt the spell push past his own wards, drawn in lyrium on his skin. His limbs stiffened and he found himself paralyzed. "It should not have come to thi-"

Zathrian stopped in mid-sentence, surprise written on his face. He coughed once, spraying blood, and fell forward. Behind him, Leliana spun her two daggers in her hands and fell into position beside Zevran. "I will guard the guardian," she said softly. "At least until you are able to move again, no?"


	7. Chapter 7

The Conclave was scarcely over when word came: the darkspawn horde was headed toward the city, and the Archdemon was with it. They used the extensive records Zathrian had assembled about the defeat of the previous Archdemons to devise a strategy - they would lure it to the top of Fort Garahel, cripple it with the siege weapons there, and then - kill it.

And according to Zathrian, one of them would die.

They argued for hours over who would strike the blow. In the end, there was no firm answer - the fog of battle would not allow them to assume that one or the other would even be _alive _by the end of things. And if they both were, there was no good way to judge what blow would be the death blow. They would simply have to strike at it until it fell.

Neira was bone-tired and frightened as she retired to her room. She wanted to wash her face, comb her hair and then find Alistair. If these were to be her last hours, she wanted to spend them with him. She opened the door to her quarters.

"Do not be alarmed. 'Tis only I."

"Morrigan?" Neira, mentally exhausted, couldn't fathom what the witch was doing in her room. "What's going on? Is something the matter?"

"I am well," the woman replied. "'Tis you who are in danger." And she began to explain the secrets that she knew.

Neira was angry at first - Why had Morrigan not mentioned this before? Weren't they friends? - but it faded as the witch began to make her case. The promised countermeasure sounded like a gift from the gods. Neira flinched when the words "blood magic" passed Morrigan's lips, but the witch _had_ said that only "some" would say it was so. Perhaps it wasn't? If she'd explain the ritual to Neira, perhaps she could judge...

"In return I conceive a child, one who will be born with the soul of an Old God. After this is done, you allow me to walk away and you do not follow - ever."

Neira stared at her. "Are you... are you serious?"

Morrigan inclined her head. "The child will be mine to raise as I see - "

"Soul of an Old God? The _Tevinter_ Old Gods? _**Tevinter?**_" Neira shook her head. "No! Never, not upon my life! They taught the humans blood magic and Arlathan nearly fell as a result! I will not be a party to resurrecting such a monster!"

"Then you will die!" Morrigan spat.

"So be it!"

The witch whirled, furious. "Fool!" she cried. "I will not stay and watch you perish."

Neira lifted her chin. "After that offer, I would not have you."

And so the Witch of the Wilds disappeared into the night.

* * *

><p><em>Perhaps I am being too hasty.<em>

Morrigan had _intended_ to disappear into the night. She had made her offer, and Neira - who she had _thought_ to be intelligent, and beyond such ridiculous superstitions - had foolishly rejected it. What more was there to say?

But as she slunk past Zevran's door, she paused. They did not get along and never had, not from their first meeting in the Wilds. But he was besotted with Neira, and love...

_Love is a weakness._

Besides, what had she to lose? Some small amount of pride, perhaps, if she were refused again, but what was that compared to what she had to possibly gain?

She paused to put her thoughts in order; Zevran was not her friend, as Neira was - _had been_- and she did not in the least feel that she owed him the full truth of the matter. Especially considering how Neira had reacted... Her story adjusted, she knocked lightly on the door.

"Come in." She entered; he was seated on the edge of his bed, watching the door expectantly. "Morrigan? This is a surprise." He raised an eyebrow. "To what do I owe the honor?"

She looked up at the ceiling. "What would you say if I told you that there was a way to ensure that neither you nor Neira would die killing the Archdemon?"

He tilted his head. "If you were to say such a thing? I suspect I would call you a cruel liar, raising hopes only to dash them. Neira has gone over Zathrian's notes many times, and it appears to be as she says. Someone must die."

"That is not entirely true," she replied, crossing the room and taking a seat beside him. He shifted uneasily away. "I have a plan, you see..." And she outlined it again, this time leaving off the words "blood magic" and "Old God." "Old ritual" and "essence" were sufficient.

He was staring at her with wide eyes, and she felt that victory was within her grasp. "But... then what?" he asked. "The Archdemon, will it not simply return in nine months' time?"

"Not at all," she reassured him. "The... essence will be free of the darkspawn corruption."

"But the... the _vessel_ will have the taint. Surely, that would corrupt - "

"Do you think me foolish? Or perhaps better to ask, do you think my mother so?" Morrigan asked crossly, standing up. "The world has an Archdemon at the moment, and if that is what we wished, we would have to do nothing. I tell you, the ritual will work. The child will be tainted but not corrupted - much as you are."

"Why?" he asked hoarsely. "Why do you offer this?"

"My reasons are my own," Morrigan replied with a flip of her hand, turning to pace beside the bed. "What is important is that I have made the offer. It is your duty to protect the sorcerer, is it not?" she asked. "That is what your kind are made for, to protect the magi from demons. Well, here is an Archdemon. And _here_," she turned back to face him, "is your best chance at saving Neira. I have no doubt that you would die for her, but will you have the chance? Battle is so _uncertain_, and she will not hold back."

He ran his hands through his hair, staring at the floor. "I don't... I don't trust you."

"You do not need to _trust_ me. You need only to _believe _me, and take what I am offering." She paced back and knelt in front of him, taking his face in her two hands and lifting it to meet her gaze. "How much comfort will your suspicions give you when you see her broken body lying torn upon the stones?"

And she saw the fear in his eyes - fear of the consequences of saying 'yes,' but a greater fear of the risk of saying 'no.' It was something the Witch of the Wilds was accustomed to seeing in the men she took to her bed, for her mother had trained her well. He would not give it voice, but he was hers.

She rose slowly, hands still on his face, and stepped forward. Staring, transfixed, he allowed her to lay him back on the bed.

* * *

><p>Neira lay spooned with Alistair, pretending for just a few moments that those strong arms around her could protect her from what tomorrow would bring.<p>

He was still worrying at the problem like Dane with a bone. "What if _I_ killed it?"

"Then it will just possess a darkspawn and turn it into a new Archdemon - one that probably won't fall into our trap a second time."

"So it has to be a Grey Warden."

"Yes."

He paused, then asked, "Can you make _me _a Grey Warden?"

"Oh, _Alistair._" She twisted in his arms so that she could embrace him. "No. No, I don't know how," she mumbled into his chest. "Neither does Zevran; we're both too new. But even if I did - "

"It would be your duty to make new Wardens," he rumbled quietly. "You need better odds." He fell quiet, stroking her hair. "I will do everything I can to make sure you two reach the demon. You must be careful of yourself until then."

"I'm not going to... to... _cringe _my way to the battle!" she protested.

"Of course not," he chuckled. "But maybe avoid running _right _up to an ogre, by yourself, so you can throw fire in its face."

"That was _ages_ ago!"

"You are a bold woman," he said, tipping her chin up. "And blessed by the gods of war. ...Do you have gods of war?"

"Elgar'nan," she replied with a half-smile. "The god of vengeance and fury."

"Ah! See, it all makes sense now. It is all a bet between your... Elgar'nan? Elgar'nan... and Eorl Wolf's Brother, to see whose champion will accrue the greater glory."

"I don't want the greater glory," she said softly. She could feel tears forming in her eyes and tried to will them away. "I just want you."

They looked at each other for a long moment before he repeated, "Very bold," and dipped his head to kiss her.

He was _not _a brute. His large hands might have been rough with callouses, but he used them gently. They kissed and petted each other with tender intensity until he pulled back and tried to slide down her body. She caught his arms. "Hold me," she whispered, and he leaned back up.

They moved together slowly, a coupling as hot and languid as a day in late summer. Neira moaned, feeling passion without urgency, desire without need. She wanted for it to go on _forever_, like the eternal sleep of old, a never-ending night where there would be no terrible dawn.

But the old days were long past and time flowed on. At length, locked in a tight embrace and gasping each others' names, they came not like lightning, but like the long roll of thunder that follows. The storm broke their summer's heat, so they remained nestled against one another, seeking warmth and comfort in the cold night.

* * *

><p>The monster screamed again, spraying violet arcane fire, but it was a death agony. Wings flapping fitfully, it slumped to the stones of Fort Garahel. "It is mine!" Zevran declared, wheeling toward the beast.<p>

_**"Stop!"**_ Neira's voice was iron, and it pulled the _allan'isa _up short. "It's my kill," she said shortly. "I'm the commander here; I take the blow."

"I am the older Warden," he countered. "By tradition, it is mine."

"We have no _time_ to argue!" She ran a hand through her hair. "Morrigan offered me a ritual that might have saved our lives, but I turned her down, _I_ made that call, so it's _my_ responsibility to - "

"She offered it to me as well," Zevran said sadly.

_He closed his eyes. He didn't want to see her, her triumphant smile and gloating eyes. He didn't want to think about Neira, either - Creators, no, let memories of her be far from this room. He tried to not think at all, just to feel softness underneath him, get lost in the rhythm, back and forth, in and out, until his own breath was loud in his ears and -_

_She bucked strangely underneath him, not like a woman in passion, and he reflexively opened his eyes. One of her pendants was in her hand, torn from her neck, and she slashed it quickly along her collarbone._

_**Blood magic**, he realized, even as his hips slammed forward of their own accord. **Tevinter blood magic!**_

_Another involuntary stroke and he was spilling out, his seed and power both, the lyrium tattoos alight with power as Dirthamen's gift unwound the knots of magic._

_Morrigan screamed, the sound like the call of the ravens Deceit and Fear. She sat up, clawing at him, spitting every foul name until he tumbled her from the bed. "Then die!" she cursed him. "Or see her die in your stead. Arrogant, short-sighted, superstitious fool!" Her form wavered and changed, and as a wolf she ran from the room._

_He stared at the spots of blood on the bedding and wept._

"You... you didn't..."

"In the end? No. Neira..." He reached up to touch her face. "You said I was your _allan'isa_."

She nodded, eyes wide.

"Then, sorcerer, let me protect you from the demon. That was my duty, even before I was a Grey Warden."

"Zevran." She shook her head. "I... I can't ask you..."

"Sh." He pressed two fingers to her lips. "You ask for nothing that I am not willing to give."

She blinked, and tears spilled down her cheeks. She nodded acceptance, and he removed his hand. "Thank you," she whispered.

He hesitated, then suddenly leaned in to kiss her, gently, on the lips. "For luck," he said as he drew back. "Farewell."

Turning, he raced across the rooftop to his destiny.

* * *

><p>The funeral was held with due ceremony. A phalanx of <em>allan'isa <em>were assembled to escort the body to the High Temple. The rites to Falon'Din were intoned and Primus Shianni gave a moving speech commemorating his sacrifice. Lanaya tearfully planted the oak sapling over his grave.

Neira didn't know where her father had been laid to rest, and found that she did not especially care.

She and Alistair lingered at the graveside. "Seems odd," the Avvar said.

"How so?"

"We burn our dead, so angry spirits cannot violate the corpses."

"Falon'Din guards this place," Neira reassured him. "Nothing from Beyond can enter."

"That's good. It would be wrong if - "

"Alistair? Please. That's really enough."

"Sorry."

They finally took their leave, walking slowly under the trees. "So... now what?" Neira finally asked.

"Now what... with us?"

"Yes."

"Well, I killed the greatest battle-chief my people have known for three generations. I don't think I'm welcome at home."

"Oh!" Neira had been too wrapped up in Zathrian's conspiracies, and then the revelations about the Grey Wardens, to really reflect on their encounter with Loghain O Tir. "Alistair, I hadn't realized..."

He shrugged. "It is what it is. He was crazy. Maybe if I had stayed in the mountains, I would have thought it was a brilliant plan. But... I've seen what the Blight is, what the darkspawn are. They're not a sudden flood or a snowstorm you can use to help your raid. I couldn't go back and tell Cailan not to support you, little beast."

She reached out to squeeze his hand. "Thank you," she said. "So... will you stay here?"

He glanced around, then down at her. "Will you?"

"I... think I will. For a while, anyway. I don't think I can go back to the Aerie, not after what we saw there. And Primus Shianni may need some help in the days to come."

"Then I will stay as well." He grinned. "For a while, anyway."

She smiled back, but it faded. "What about... after a while?"

His smile slipped and he looked away. "I've told you, the Avvar... we do not tempt the gods with oaths of permanence and eternity."

She tried to swallow her disappointment. "Indeed."

"But I should tell you of Rowan."

"The spy?"

"No, Cailan's mother. Rowan An Ora is surely named for her - she was a strong woman and much respected in the hills. She sang for my father, and he tied six knots while she did it." Neira nodded. "And in six years, he asked if she would sing again, and she did. He tied five knots that time." Neira nodded, more slowly. "In those five years, I was born. But he asked her a third time if she would sing. And she said that she would. He tied eight whole knots, but in the seventh year, she died."

Neira looked up at him. "What are you saying?"

He stopped and took both her hands in his. "For as long as you love me, and for as long as I love you, I will ask you to sing for me."

She smiled and embraced him. "In that case," she murmured, "you had best teach me this song."

- _Fin_ -

**Author's Notes**

* Thanks for reading! I had an absolute ball developing the alternate universe, so I hope you enjoyed it.

* This originally appeared on the k!meme (link NSFW) starting in December 2010. I think the first post went up the same week the concept art of the "Mysterious Elf Guy" DA2 companion appeared. His white tattoos were much discussed, but weren't known to be lyrium brands at the time.

Tattoos are one of Zevran's identifying characteristics. Zevran was taking the Alistair role of a templar-ish figure; blending the tattoos with the abilities seemed clever to me. Of course, all things in Thedas that have strange powers somehow related to lyrium, and voila. I _did_ clear the concept with Shadow of Light, whose ongoing story "The Kill" also featured (very different) lyrium tattoos. But Fenris was leagues away from inspiring them.

* Now, when I did the DA2-inspired sequel, Fenris had to be an allan'isa. ;)

* Neira was Solona in the original, because I honest-to-goodness thought that was the name of the f!Surana Warden. It caused some reader confusion, so I fixed it here.

* The Dragon Age RPG informs us that Avvar naming customs include "An" as a word meaning "daughter of." I stumbled across this bit of trivia while I was writing this, and that's why Anora got renamed Rowan An Ora.

* Very little had to be edited out to bring this from an MA to an M; mostly, there were a few paragraphs in Neira and Alistair's first night that came out. Honestly, you're not missing much; this was maybe my third or fourth fill on the k!meme, and I thought it "had to have" some hardcore bits in it, my "rent" for posting in that space. They're a touch awkward as a result, and not really my favorite part of the story at all.


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